Fallen
by Fibre Optic
Summary: Clint is injured, Bruce is sarcastic, and they learn more about each other than they expect when they become trapped together in an abandoned mine.


_Hi, i aren't dead! _

_This is a story that was started way back in January of last year, which I found gathering dust in my documents folder earlier this evening. I've finished and edited it all tonight, so if there are really obvious errors I might just throw myself face-first off the kitchen counter because I've been staring at this story for so long I'm about to go crazy. Please enjoy it for what it is anyway._

_P.S: I finally caught up with the cool kids and made a tumblr. My url is hold-it-hawkeye so come find me there :)_

* * *

"Ow! Fucking hell – could you _not_?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, is my urgent medical attention interrupting your imminent death?"

Clint narrows his eyes, but falls silent as Bruce empties cold water from a bottle into the small, gaping hole in his belly. No bigger than a quarter, it throbs and burns with more ferocity than the ragged flesh at his hip.

He lifts his head to watch Bruce working, but when he spots the needle and thread coming out he quickly lets his head drop back to the ground.

"This isn't going to hold in the long run," Bruce says. "But it should keep the wound closed to infection until we get out of here."

There is nothing to sterilize the needle with, and it's not made for piercing skin. When the blunted point first digs into the skin of his midsection, Clint squeezes his eyes shut and balls both hands into fists at his sides.

The tug at the sensitive skin around his wound hurts more than the prick of the needle, but Bruce is looking increasingly concerned at his muted whimpers, and he bites his tongue to silence himself.

The ceiling is not interesting enough to divert his attention – in the darkness it is not even visible. He can feel the hard ground begin to take its toll against his back from lying too long, small pebbles digging into his shoulder blades and causing him to fight the urge to shift away.

He tries to focus on counting how many stones and pebbles are beneath him simply by shrugging his shoulders and concentrating on sensation, but soon decides that it's actually less painful to stare into the abyss of darkness that is the ceiling.

It is a relief when Bruce pulls the last of the skin together with his thick transparent thread and clips the excess. He sits back on his rear, knees up in front of him and palms braced against the ground at his sides, and tilts his head to look at Clint. "That's the best I can do right now," he says. "We're not too far off the radar in here, at least."

Clint turns his head to the side, wincing when a sharp edged stone pushes against his cheek. He looks at Banner and manages something close to his usual sarcastic grin. "You got any painkillers in that Pouch of Convenience, doc?" He gestures with the hand nearest Bruce to a small leather satchel sitting half-open on the ground nearby.

It's a small first aid kit, which Bruce keeps strapped to the inside of his pants. When Clint had asked about it many months earlier, Bruce had admitted it was a habit he'd formed in the days when SHIELD weren't there to pick up the pieces after his transformations. A habit that Clint can't argue with, given their current situation.

Bruce smiles a little. "Afraid not. You'll have to suffer through 'till they find us."

"Don't I always?" Clint groans, letting his head gently thump against the ground.

They haven't been here long, but it feels like days have passed since the pair fell through the faulty grate and into an abandoned mine, hundreds of feet underground. The only reason Clint's even still breathing is because Banner, at the time running as his alter-ego, had twisted mid-fall to grab the archer against his chest and soften the landing.

"Why are there even mines out here?" Clint says, turning his head to cool his cheek against the ground. "It's been empty for years."

"A lot of the mines were abandoned when they were finished with them," Bruce replies, oblivious to the fact that Clint wasn't _really_ asking. "Health and safety wasn't a huge deal back when these places were set up."

"I'm getting that," Clint replies dryly.

A sound suddenly erupts from where Banner is sitting, a high-pitched static mingled with breaking up voices. _"Hello? You – they aren't – resp – not – ton isn't with him -" _

Clint startles, but tries to decipher the message. It's definitely Stark's voice – he'd recognise the man's snarky tone anywhere – but the meaning of the words is lost on him.

"Tony? Tony?" Banner says loudly, holding Clint's malfunctioning comm to his mouth. "Can you hear us?"

The comm is the only thing they have that can possibly be tracked to their location, and Clint is feeling twitchy about using it to attempt communication. The battery life on those things isn't great, and they'd been travelling and fighting for nearly 22 hours before he and the Hulk had fallen down the mine shaft.

" _-oud and – lear, doctor. Except – ot – that clear." _

"Tell him where we are," Clint hisses. "Or at least, the general location."

Bruce looks at him helplessly, and Clint remembers that the poor guy has no real memory of his time as the Hulk and aside from the fact that they're in a mine, has no idea where they are.

"Pass it here." Clint holds out his hand for the comm, and Bruce hands it over. "Tony?"

"_-rton? We thought – ead - so – o're with – anner?" _

"Cut the unnecessary words, Stark. You're breaking up."

"_-uck off, Barton."_

"Can you track this?" Clint asks, ignoring that last insult.

"_-ignal is -tty weak but I -nk we can make - work."_

"Okay, good. Can you track it while it's off?"

"_Did - sustain -ny damag- in the fall-"_

Clint squints, lifting the comm above him so he can properly examine it. It was attached to his collar when he fell, blessedly spared from much damage beyond the dampness of the mine. He lowers it back to a few inches above his mouth. "Nah, s'good."

"_-reat, we -an track it -hen."_

Clint lets his head drop back to the ground, cushioned only slightly by the growth of springy green moss that is scattered across sections around his fallen form. He sighs and slings his arm out, unfurling his fist to offer the comm to Bruce.

Bruce takes it from him and shuffles closer, sitting by the spot where Clint's head is resting. The archer turns his head to the side and surveys Banner for a moment. "Getting homesick, Doc?"

Bruce glances sideways and smiles. "The opposite, actually."

"Do share," Clint says, shrugging his shoulders against the ground to get some movement back.

"I was just thinking how all of this," Banner gestures with the hand not resting across his knees, "It's similar to places I used to hide out in. Dark, isolated."

"Sounds fun," Clint deadpans, then says seriously, "You don't miss it, do you?"

Bruce shrugs. "Sometimes. It was...well, it was quiet. Peaceful, even."

"Guess the tower was a bit of a culture shock," Clint says.

"Yeah, but I like it," Bruce's smile brightens a little. "It's nice, to be around people and not have to worry that...that they're scared of me."

Clint is aware that Bruce worked as a doctor, treating people for next to nothing before Natasha was sent to bring him in. He knows that to these people, Bruce was a hero, a man who saved lives and didn't take them. He doesn't bring it up.

"Stark seems to like pushing you," Clint points out. "Doesn't that – I don't know, annoy you?"

"It's the reason I decided to stay."

Surprised, Clint starts to push himself up on his elbows, only to feel Bruce's hand on his chest pushing him gently back down. Clint huffs and stays where he is, but continues to look at Bruce with no small amount of confusion.

"So you stayed for the challenge?"

"It's not a challenge," Bruce replies amiably. "I know he's not going to manage to get the Other Guy to make an appearance."

"You just like to be around someone who isn't scared to provoke you?" Clint tilts his head and catches Bruce's eye.

"Is it really so unreasonable?"

"I guess not," Clint says after a pause. He chuckles, shaking his head. "Some of us have worked a very long time to achieve just the opposite of that."

"You're talking about Natasha."

"I'm talking about me."

Bruce looks up, surprised. "You used to work in a circus, right?"

A flash of pain through his side makes Clint gasp suddenly, and before he can wave him away, Bruce is kneeling at his side. He runs his hands along Clint's hip, feeling for the wound and swearing when he finds it and his fingers come away stained red.

"Bruce, m'fine," Clint mutters, swatting weakly at Bruce's hand pressing against his hip.

"You fell through a mine, Clint," Bruce says calmly, pulling Clint's shirt up and using it as a makeshift cloth to mop away the blood around the wound. "It's okay that you're not fine."

There is no point in arguing, so Clint allows the wound to be tended to. There are antiseptic wet-wipes in the first aid kit, along with some spare bandages. The bottle of iodine had smashed upon impact when they'd fallen through the mine, and all the thread they had was currently holding Clint's other wound together.

"It was a travelling circus, and I didn't get paid," Clint says, after a few moments have passed in silence and Bruce has successfully cleaned up the wound.

Bruce is still kneeling beside him, looking troubled as he presses bandages to the injury with nothing to hold them in place. He looks up at Clint's words, and the corner of his mouth tugs up into a half-smile.

"What did you do in it?" he asks, and settles into a more comfortable sit beside Clint, keeping his hand pressed to the bandage.

"I was Hawkeye," Clint says, with a tone of amusement that could be aimed at Bruce for not knowing or the simple ridiculousness of the tale. "World's greatest marksman and all that."

"I never got to go to the circus," Bruce almost sounds morose. "It used to pass through the town, but my parents were hippy-types. Didn't agree with animals in cages. At the time I disagreed, just wanted to go with all the other kids."

"If it makes you feel any better, your parents were right," Clint says lightly. "The Ringmaster trained the tigers, and he was an asshole. He got off on beating the crap out of those cats, watching these huge strong creatures cowering when he walked into the ring. Made him feel like a god, I think."

"What happened to him?"

"One of the tigers mauled him. Snapped his neck in front of the crowd one night, started chewing on him while the people were still screaming." Clint's eyes darken. "They sold the tigers and we didn't deal with animals after that."

"Such is the nature of the beast," Bruce winces.

Clint hums in agreement.

"So that's where you learned how to shoot the bow and arrow?"

Clint suspects that Bruce is just trying to keep him talking in the hope that he'll stay conscious until the others reach them. He goes along with it. "Yeah. First it was just cleaning up after the animals, selling food during the show, doing jobs no one else wanted. Then one day some kid started on my brother while I was on the other side of the tent. I threw a candy apple across the ring, hit him square in the back of the head and knocked him out cold."

Bruce snickers. "That's how Hawkeye got his break?"

"That and some other stuff in between," Clint smiles.

Something creaks above them, and both men freeze. Bruce tilts his head, listening intently, while Clint shifts his weight onto one elbow to ease himself up, straining to hear any more sounds from above.

"Hey, Bruce," Clint starts nervously. "Mines don't spontaneously collapse, right?"

"Spontaneously?" Bruce repeats, shuffling forward on his knees and leaning across Clint's torso to peer up at the gaping hole above them. "Not really. Shortly after being trampled on by a 1500 pound monster, though? Definitely possible."

Clint's curse is almost immediately drowned out by a new sound. Their eyes widen, and they exchange hopeful looks as the noise becomes clearer. Only seconds later a familiar blue glow is descending from the mine entrance above them.

"Stark, you son of a bitch," Clint sighs, relieved.

Iron Man navigates the narrow tunnel leading down to the mine, coming into sight boots-first and dropping into a crouch on the ground across from them.

He raises his head, the blue slits that operate as eyes fixing on Clint. Despite the fact that it's Stark in the suit, Clint can't help but feel nervous when the soulless blue gaze is on him.

"Hawkeye," Stark takes a couple of steps forward, the mechanical whirr of the suit seeming to fill the previously dead air around them. "You okay?"

"There's a stab wound to his stomach and he gashed himself pretty bad on a piece of wood jutting out on the fall down here. I stitched up what I could with the first aid kit, but he needs to get to the infirmary," Bruce supplies as he pushes himself to his feet.

"And you?" Stark's voice has a gentler tone to it when dealing with Bruce, but Clint doesn't take it personally. He knows Stark, for all his bravado and prodding, tends to be soft with Bruce – most people are.

"The Big Guy took the brunt of the fall," Bruce dismisses. "I'm fine."

"Great." The relief is an undertone, but it's audible in Stark's voice above the usual snarkiness. "It alright with you if I take the turkey first, then come back?"

"I'm _right here,_" Clint snarks, punching the air and wiggling his fingers when he hears Stark's head turning.

"Yeah, yeah. As if I could miss your Damsel-y ass,."

"I'll be fine 'till you get back," Bruce says when Stark looks back at him.

They don't argue about it, and Bruce stands by to instruct Stark on how to go about lifting Clint without causing any unnecessary pain. For his part, the archer simply looks defeated when Iron Man hoists him up.

"I am so done with this mission," Clint huffs, hanging limp as a towel across Iron Man's left shoulder. "I haven't slept in two days."

Bruce grins from where he is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the mine, watching Iron Man walk away with Clint. "You'll be fine, think happy thoughts and pass out as soon as you get out of here."

"Hold tight, Robin Hood," Stark says as he fires up the repulsors.

Clint barely has time to throw a mock-salute to Bruce before they are in the air, zooming towards the gap of light above. It is only now as he travels back up the way he came that Clint really appreciates the distance he fell. No wonder his body is aching so much.

"You alright back there?"

Stark is too used to flying in the suit, clearly doesn't realize that if Clint were to answer he would very quickly lose his breath, which he does not feel like doing right now. Instead, Clint shrugs. His eyelids are heavy and his shoulders feel like they're complaining about the weight of his head.

If it wasn't so damn cold pressed against the Iron Man suit and flying who-knows-how-high in the air, Clint is pretty sure he'd fall asleep right now.

It isn't until they break through the gap and emerge from the mines into startling daylight that Clint feels the first wave of dizziness hit him.

Thankfully, Stark is already making for a soft landing, but Clint shuts his eyes before they hit the ground. He is out cold before they do.

* * *

**Epilogue.**

* * *

Bruce understands more than most the value of secrets.

He feels guilt as he looks through Clint's past while the archer lies unconscious in a hospital cot a few floors away. Yet he finds that he can't let it go, realizes that he has to look into this because if he doesn't he will never know, and that somehow feels worse.

So he searches Clint's file, flips past everything that might be interesting but doesn't relate to what he is looking for. Eventually, he finds it.

In black and white, a photograph of a circus ring surrounded by police tape. The brief report underneath it, handwritten by whoever tracked down the information.

"_-aged 15 years old, Clint Barton is suspected for the murder of the circus ringmaster, who was found outside the teenagers sleeping quarters with a single stab wound to the chest. There is not enough evidence to convict, and Barton is freed."_

Bruce spends a long while just staring at the words, though he has long made sense of them. A sound outside the office startles him, and he quickly puts the pages back in order and shoves Barton's file back into the drawer he'd taken it from.

The sinking feeling in his chest as he exits the office and starts back down the corridor doesn't ease up, though he hadn't honestly expected it to.

It has been permanent, since the day after Tony had rescued them from the mine. Bruce was curious to the point of naivety, and decided to look up the circus Clint used to travel with.

Carson Carnival of Traveling Wonders.

Much of the information available on the internet was from fans of Hawkeye, him being the circus's most famous export. There was some information on other suspected superheroes who had passed through, and finally, a website dedicated to keeping records of such places.

This one had Clint's full name and his act, along with his brother.

There were eight or nine different trapeze artists, four clowns, three ringmasters and twelve stuntmen. Some horses and acrobatic riders were mentioned in later records, after Clint had left the show.

But there were never any tigers.


End file.
